


to let me dangle at a cruel angle

by milesfairchild



Category: The Haunting of Bly Manor (TV), The Turn of the Screw - Henry James, The Turning (2020)
Genre: F/M, but he’s a creepy boy who likes you, miles is a creepy boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27333382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milesfairchild/pseuds/milesfairchild
Summary: "Flora," you start, watching her play out the events of that day with a disturbing amount of accuracy. "Was Miles outside the night we had the tea party?"
Relationships: Miles Fairchild/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	to let me dangle at a cruel angle

**Author's Note:**

> crossposted request: Can I request him confessing his feelings? I feel like it'd be very interesting and he'd treat the whole thing a lot differently to most people.

With an avian fluffer of your eyelashes, you see a figure standing before you, an almost thoughtful expression carved on the crevices of his face.

You laugh, masking your nervousness at being observed while you slept. "Watching me sleep now, huh?" 

He doesn't make a show of denying it, casually pointing out that he had in fact, just arrived and was not expecting you to have succumbed to slumber in any room that was not your own. His lack of diablerie is something to ponder upon; Miles always gave as good as he got, if not better. 

An awkward silence follows; you're not really sure what to fill it with so you remain taciturn.

"Stay safe," he says at long last with a tentative pinch of his brows that seems out of place on his angelic face— it almost comes across as ominous, as though he knows something sinistrous is about to happen. You'd had feelings of impending doom while at the mansion, but had quickly brushed them aside after convincing yourself that they were menial perturbations and that you should not lose sleep over such things. 

He takes his leave after that, leaving you discombobulated at the uncharacteristic display. Somehow, he had deemed it pertinent enough to tell you that.

You had figured that Miles was probably dealing with stuff of his own, and gave him the space he needed. It was incredibly lonely, but you had the company of Flora who occupied your time with activities that only a child would take joy in partaking in, pouring fake tea out of her finest china— which you had learnt that it was real china, and not some cheap substitute like most children had. It was inexplicably cherished and taken care of as though it belonged to an adult. _That was one thing about the Fairchild's,_ you thought amusedly, _they took great care of what was theirs._

One particular morning, while keeping a mindful eye on Flora as she played with her vintage dollhouse that was reminiscent of the manor itself but much smaller. She had saved the loveliest doll for herself, naming it 'Flora.' Then came Miles— who was also a lovely doll just not as much as the first, adorned in a victorian style dress and then with the third doll, she had paused, a look of conflict taking over her sweet features.

"What's up?" You question, becoming cognizant of her mood change.

She stares at the doll with some sort of inner turmoil. Then carefully places it down. She picks up Miles and places him outside one of the bedroom doors in the dollhouse, then picks up Flora and places her inside of the room he's stood outside of.

She then looks at the doll with a frown. "We're all friends, so you have to be on your best behavior." And then places it in the same room she placed the Flora doll in, only in the corner of the room which was closest to the window.

"What's that ones name?"

"No name," she replies adequately, then begins humming and starts to comb the hair of the next doll, taking occasional glances up at you. You assumed this doll was to be you. She had a careful precision when doing this, like a mother with her child. Once she was satisfied, she places the doll next to hers in the house, a considerable distance from the doll with no name. 

Miles was still outside. 

And the doll with no name in one secluded corner of the room.

She reenacts a tea party they had on a particularly stormy night that made the mansion seem more dismal than usual. 

"Flora," you start, watching her play out the events of that day with a disturbing amount of accuracy. "Was Miles outside the night we had the tea party?"

She gives you a secretive smile, and continues playing out the scene.

You press on, a modicum of urgency seeping into your tone. "Who is that? In the corner?"

"Nobody." The voice comes from Miles— the real one, though something tells you that it would not have been an anomaly to the Fairchild's if it had been one of the dolls. 

"Were you outside this whole time?" You think of the doll version of him in Flora's dollhouse, lingering outside of the room you and the younger Fairchild had occupied.

"Just passing by, my dear," he assures you pleasantly. It wasn't very assuring.

Flora leans in, mischief alight in her eyes, with a conspiratorial whisper, "He likes to make sure we're safe."

"We're...?" Though this question is posed at Flora, you chance a look at him. Miles' attention has found designation elsewhere, the blade of his observation soldered so intently on what appears to be a blotch of nothingness which permeates the corner of the room. 

You stand up and the vacuous extent of his gaze cuts to you. You study him unflinchingly, prudent eyes sweeping the sculpt of his face. For what, you're not exactly sure of yet.

He smiles suddenly, the corners of his berried mouth quirked upward in a far too obliging grin. "I have something for you," he says brightly as soon as you've reached to him. He's already reaching into the confines of his inner jacket pocket, retrieving an enchanting, ornate box before handing it to you. You take notice that his hands linger.

His eyes glitter with mirth, but there's an unnerving sobriety to his words. "Keep what's inside on you at all times. It'll keep you safe— I would hate if something were to happen to someone I've grown to like."


End file.
